Broad Daylight
by 88Keys
Summary: It's bright and sunny and perfect outside the day five year-old Shawn Spencer is kidnapped." Pre-season fic. Minor young Shawn whump, nothing graphic.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I think I may have fan-wanked a bit in terms of canon, but I think it comes back around nicely in the end. My first ever Psych fic- your comments and reviews are very much appreciated!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Broad Daylight"

by 88Keys

Finished 5/4/10

* * *

It's bright and sunny and perfect outside the day five year-old Shawn Spencer is kidnapped. The clear skies and warm spring air offer no warning, no hint of danger at all.

He is supposed to be playing in the backyard. Madeline Spencer is watching her son through the window while catching up on various household chores on a rare afternoon off. She turns for a minute to put a load of clothes in the washing machine, and when she comes back, he is gone.

Madeline doesn't panic right away. Shawn never was good at staying where he was supposed to be. She calmly walks to the opposite window at the front of the house to check the front yard. She still can't see him; yet she still is not afraid because she was only gone for a minute or two and surely that isn't long enough.

She walks out the front door and looks out at the street. She hears a vehicle door slam, somehow too loudly. Just past their house, a white truck peels out, tires squealing.

She hasn't seen Shawn, but somehow she _knows__._ Instinct kicks in. She screams and runs after the truck, all the way down the block. If sheer force of will could have propelled her forward, she would have overtaken them in seconds.

But willpower alone isn't enough, and she can only stare and scream some more as the truck rounds a corner and disappears out of sight with her baby in it.

* * *

Shawn is running across the grass, pretending to fly, when all of a sudden he _is_ flying. Someone has lifted him up and is carrying him across the yard to a waiting vehicle.

It's happening all at once, and he can't process it. He can't even see who has picked him up. For a moment he thinks his father is playing a game with him and he's delighted, because his dad is usually so serious. But then the truck door opens, and he's thrown in onto the floor, roughly, and he knows this isn't his dad's truck and that this is no game.

The guy climbs in on the passenger side and slides across the seat. He's starting the truck and mashing the gas, and Shawn feels real fear. His skin prickles and his stomach turns, because he's in a truck with a stranger and he doesn't know where they're going. Tires squeal against the pavement, and the sound hurts his ears. Shawn opens his mouth and screams as loud as he can. They round a corner sharply, going too fast, and Shawn is thrown forwards towards the driver. He screams again, and the man reaches down and slaps him hard across the face. It's sudden and shocking, and Shawn immediately stops screaming. No one has ever hit him in the face before. He crawls back, away from the bad man, and cowers in the far corner of the floor as his cheek burns and the truck travels farther and farther away from home.

* * *

Henry's shift is almost over when the call comes in.

The dispatcher's voice is calm and straightforward, as usual. It's the code that makes him take notice. 207, the code for kidnapping. And there is a child involved. All policemen took notice when a call like that came through. Every available unit was expected to respond, and quickly.

The code makes him take notice, but it's the address that made his heart stop.

_Can't be right._ _Dispatch must have gotten the number wrong. Or it's some other kid on our block._ The disbelieving side of his mind is coming up with excuses, while the logical side won't budge. _You know your own damn address._

Still, it can't be _Shawn._

Henry is home in a matter of minutes.

Madeline is on the front lawn, looking shaky and sick, trying not to cry but failing. A neighbor is there with her arms around her, trying to keep her calm. Another unit had arrived just before Henry and they are trying to talk to them both, trying to find out what happened.

Everyone's trying, but no one's accomplishing anything.

He jogs up to his wife, pushing the other officers aside.

"Maddie, what happened? What's going on?"

She looks at him with tear-filled eyes, but her voice is strangely flat and hollow.

"Someone took Shawn."


	2. Chapter 2

The neighbor woman saw the whole thing. She was already on the phone calling the police while Madeline had been running after the truck.

Shawn had been in the front yard, running around with arms outstretched, like an airplane. The neighbor had barely noticed the white truck sitting parked in front of the next house, until a man got out of it. Medium height and build, wearing jeans, a jacket, and a ball cap. He had strolled down the sidewalk, head down, hands in his pockets, not paying any attention to Shawn until he was right in front of him. With one swift movement he had grabbed the boy and ran, shoving him into the passenger side of the truck and then climbing in after him.

_It happened so fast. He just grabbed him and took off. _

Henry gets tired of hearing the same clichéd responses from witnesses. Especially now. He has to bite back the urge to argue. _How could you not have stopped him? You saw him take my son, and you didn't even try to stop him?_

Madeline has stopped crying, but her breath is coming in short gasps now. The officers are trying to calm her down, but she can only stare at Henry, waiting for him to take charge. Waiting for him to make everything OK, because it is taking all her energy just to keep breathing and stay standing.

Henry puts his hands on his head, trying to think. The lines between stoic cop, concerned husband, and terrified father are crossed and blurry right now, making it hard to know how to function. He pushes back his fear and gently puts his hands on his wife's arms.

"Maddie? Maddie, look at me. Listen to me. I need you to tell me about the truck."

Her breathing slows, but still she won't meet his eyes.

"Look at me," he says again, and finally she looks up. "The truck, Maddie. What color was it?"

"White," she says automatically.

"Make?"

"A Ford, like yours."

"Good. Did you see the license plate?"

She takes a few more breaths. "I...I'm not sure..."

"Think, Maddie. Picture it in your mind."

She closes her eyes, and Henry feels her trembling beneath his hands. She purses her lips and swallows hard, and he knows she is seeing the truck speeding away with her son in it all over again.

"Focus, Maddie. Focus on the plate. What did it say?"

She is silent for several moments. He is about to ask her again when she finally speaks. "California plate. "C...9...T?" She opens her eyes and looks at him, lips trembling. "I couldn't see the rest of it. He got away too..too fast...Henry, he has Shawn...."

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. "Good, Maddie. Good. That helps a lot." He tries to look sternly at the young officer next to him. "Get to the station and check DMV records for a white Ford truck with partial plate number Charlie Nine Tango. Find the address of the owner."

The officer nods and turns to go.

Henry removes his arms from his wife and starts to pull away. "Honey, I have to get to the station now-"

"You're not going anywhere, Henry."

He is surprised when he turns and sees not only the chief of police, but six other officers behind him. When had they all arrived? They're all staring at him with a mixture of pity and fear, and it pisses him off. Why are they just standing there?

"The hell I'm not, Chief. My son is missing-"

"Which is exactly why you can't work this case. You know that."

"You expect me to just sit here and do nothing while some _animal_ has my son?!" Madeline whimpers next to him.

"I expect you to stay here with your wife. You're not a cop on this one, Henry. You're a civilian. Let us do our jobs. We'll find him, Henry. As far as I'm concerned, this is the only case in Santa Barbara today."


	3. Chapter 3

She sits at the kitchen table, staring at her hands. She's already shredded a stack of paper napkins and has moved on to twisting and untwisting a cloth towel. He paces the floor, because simply keeping his hands busy is not enough for him.

He's seen a lot of parents of missing children over the years. They all say the same thing. _I can't breathe._ He never understood it until now. There's a hard knot inside his chest, like a fist squeezing his lungs. It's been there for over an hour, because he hasn't known where his son is for over an hour. He can barely breathe, and he sure as hell can't sit still.

He glances at Maddie, who is silently staring at the towel in her hands. He still cannot understand how this happened.

"Shawn's not supposed to play in the front yard."

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he has spoken. He didn't mean to say it, but she doesn't look up.

"I know."

"So why did you let him?" Like a broken dam, words are flooding out now. He can't stop them.

She still doesn't look up; just wraps the towel tightly around her left hand. "Why don't you just say what you're thinking, Henry?"

"Which is?"

"That this is my fault." Her voice is soft, low. Not angry or argumentative.

"I didn't say that."

"But you're thinking it."

"Maddie, I just want to know why he was in the front yard. He's only supposed to play in the backyard."

"He was in the backyard, Henry." The anger he had expected is finally coming to the surface. "I stepped away from the window for a minute, and when I came back, he was gone. I went to the front because I knew he would be there, and he...he was...gone..."

Henry sighs. "Maddie-"

"It is my fault." There is venom in her voice, but it is directed at herself, not him. "It's my fault...it's my fault..." her voice is tight, lips trembling, eyes watering. "My fault..."

He kneels down by her chair and she sobs into his shoulder for several minutes. He rubs her back soothingly. He is strong for her, and he wonders who will be strong for him, because he cannot take much more of this.

"Henry," she gasps, leaning up and wiping her eyes. "Go."

"What?"

"Go to the station. Find out what's going on."

"Maddie, I can't-"

"Bull. I know you. Rules don't stop you." She glances at the clock on the wall. "It's been over an hour. They should have been able to track down the truck."

"I don't want to leave you alone right now."

"I'll be fine. Go."

He pauses, thinking. "Maybe I don't have to."

He crosses the room and picks up the phone. He's called the DMV to run plate numbers so many times that he knows the number by heart.

"Dave? It's Henry Spencer. I need you to run a partial plate number for me. It's for a white Ford truck-"

"-starting with Charlie Nine Tango?"

"That's the one."

"I just gave that information to your chief five minutes ago."

Henry sighs, pretending to be annoyed. "Well he didn't tell me that. Damn bureaucracy. Do you still have the info? We're kind of in a hurry here."

"Yeah, I heard. Kidnapped child. I've still got it right here..." He hears papers rustling. "We found three white Fords that start with those digits. The closest one to Santa Barbara is registered to a Charles Plummer, address 519 West Maple Street in Lompoc."

"519 West Maple," he repeats. "Thanks, Dave."

"I hope you catch him, Henry."

Henry closes his eyes. "Believe me, I will."

He hangs up the phone and turns to Maddie. She has gotten up and is standing next to him, reading the name and address he jotted down on a piece of scratch paper.

"Charles Plummer," she repeats. She looks up, into his eyes. "I'm going with you."

He shakes his head, not really sure why he is refusing. "You should stay here."

"Why? You've got the address." That feistiness that attracted him to her years ago had morphed into a ferocity neither of them expected after Shawn was born. He can see it in her eyes now. Venom, redirected. Determination.

"Let's go get our son, Henry."

The bad man drives for a long time.

Shawn is waiting, expecting to hear the sirens on his father's police car screaming out from behind them. But they never come. It's getting dark, and he is still jammed into the corner of the floor, as far away from the driver as he can possibly be while still being in the truck. His legs are going numb from being tucked under him. His pants feel wet. He doesn't remember doing that, and he feels ashamed.

Shawn dares to peek up above him. He can see the door handle above his head, and it occurs to him that maybe it would be better to be outside of the truck than inside it. He glances at the bad man, whose eyes are on the road. There is a knife lying on the seat beside him. Shawn hadn't noticed it before. He stares at the knife for a long time before finally tearing his eyes away.

Cautiously, he reaches up, slowly. The tips of his fingers brush the handle, but he can't quite reach high enough to get a grip. He pushes himself up and it's almost in his grasp when a hand grabs his arm and jerks him over, away from the door. Shawn jerks his arm back at the same time the bad man lets go, and he flies backwards, hitting the door with his back. It holds firm.

"It's locked anyway, kid."

Shawn eyes him warily. "I want to go home."

"Shut up."

He feels the truck slowing, turning to the right and going up a slight incline. It's a driveway, and they're pulling into a garage. Shawn's stomach flip-flops again. This is not his house, and now they're stopping, and he needs to get away.

The bad man turns off the engine and opens the door. He slams it shut, leaving Shawn alone for the moment, and goes to pull the heavy garage door shut. Somehow Shawn knows this may be his only chance.

He stands up, grabs the lock and pulls it up. He sees the bad man through the window, still standing by the garage door. He pulls the handle with shaking hands and pushes the door with his foot, and somehow it pops open. He tumbles out, landing hard on the concrete on his hands and knees.

He sees Bad Man's feet coming towards him. Shawn rolls underneath the open door of the truck and scrambles to his feet. There's a door in the wall in front of him and he runs to it. Bad Man has to stop and slam the truck door before he can get around it, and it buys Shawn precious seconds.

The door opens to a backyard, eerily lit in the half-light of dusk. Shawn runs, not knowing where to go but knowing he must not stop for anything. He can hear footsteps and shouts behind him but he does not turn around. He runs through the backyard and into the next yard, dodging toys and bicycles and lawn chairs. Across the next street and through still another yard. A dog barks excitedly, but he keeps running. A stitch forms in his side, and it's hard to breathe, but he cannot stop. He can feel the bad man's breath on his neck. Feel his fingers reaching out to touch him.

He is halfway across another yard before something finally slows him down. It's a chain ladder, hanging down from a tree house sitting in a large oak tree above him. He couldn't see the ladder very well in the near darkness; he nearly crashed into it. Shawn grabs the nearest rung and pulls himself up, never looking down. At the top he throws himself off the ladder onto the solid floor of the tree house. He finally dares to glance down, expecting to see Bad Man coming up the ladder, but no one is there. He pulls the ladder up, rung by rung, until it is all up in the tree house with him. No one can get to him now.

He rolls over onto his back, breathing hard and trembling all over. He will be safe here. This tree house is a fortress, like the ones he and Gus build out of pillows and couch cushions in the living room. Even better, because it is up in the trees where no one can reach it without the ladder. He just has to stay quiet, and still. No one can find him here. His breathing gradually slows until he falls asleep, exhausted.


	4. Chapter 4

Lompoc is an hour away, which means Shawn has been gone for well over two when they arrive. 519 West Maple Street is a small white rental house in an up-and-coming neighborhood full of remodeled homes with fresh paint and new windows. It looks like a nice neighborhood; a good place to raise a family.

"_Except for the kidnapper down the street," _Henry thinks as he pulls the car over to the side to park. The driveway of 519 is already full. Two local units and four SBPD squad cars cover it and spill out into the street. He looks over at his wife and she seems frozen, staring transfixed, at the house that holds their son and his kidnapper. He knows she wants to go in, but is afraid of what they might find inside.

"Hey," he says gently, giving her hand a squeeze. "He'll be OK."

She nods, still staring at the house. "Let's go."

They are exiting the car when two more squad cars pull up behind them. One is the chief himself, who immediately jumps out of his car and runs up to them.

"Henry, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What do you think? Nice of you to keep me informed, Matt." Henry motions to the house. "Is this the place? Is this where he took my son?"

"Henry, we-"

He is interrupted by a commotion from the house. The front door opens, and light spills out. Henry sees Charles Plummer being led out in handcuffs by two uniformed officers.

For a moment, everything slows down and becomes eerily quiet. He can't hear the chief speaking to him anymore. He feels light-headed, like his skin is stretched too tight across his skull. Madeline's grip on his arm tightens. He doesn't hear anything except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears. The beat is speeding up, and all he can see clearly is that miserable piece of scum who took his son.

He doesn't even realize he is moving forward until he feels hands and arms on him, restraining him. It takes three men to hold him back. Gradually he is aware of their shouts, telling him not to do it, to calm down, that it's not worth it. He feels one of them remove his gun from its holster, and he is surprised. He hadn't even thought of shooting Plummer. He wants the pleasure of feeling his fist transform Plummer's face to a bloody pulp. He wants to beat him senseless. Not worth it? It would be worth his badge, his freedom, worth almost anything to tear that lowlife apart with his bare hands.

They don't let him go until Plummer is secured in the back of a squad car and the car is pulling away down the street. Henry swears he hears the man sobbing as he is shoved into the car. _Coward._

Madeline is tugging on his arm. Together they approach one of the officers. Henry recognizes him as Marty Drew, a seventeen-year veteran of the force. A good cop, high-ranking, and surely he will know what's going on.

"Where is Shawn?" Henry asks at the same time the chief barks "Status report!" from behind him.

Drew looks from Henry to the chief and back again. The streetlight illuminates his face. Henry can see the hesitant, disappointed look there.

"Answer me, Marty. Where is my son?"

Drew glances warily at Madeline, then finally meets Henry's eyes. "We've searched the whole house, Henry. Shawn's not here."

He hears Madeline gasp, sees her stumble, feels her grab his arm to steady herself. He can't breathe; the fist is back, squeezing all the air out of his lungs in a quiet _woosh._

Drew looks beyond Henry at the chief. "Plummer denied it at first. Said he had nothing to do with any kidnapping. We told him we had witnesses and his plate number, and finally he broke down. He says Shawn ran away when he pulled into the garage. He didn't chase him very far, because he didn't want the neighbors to see him. He was packing when we arrived, about to skip town."

_Shawn got away._ Henry looks at his wife and sees new hope in her eyes.

"Do you know which way he went?"

Drew nods. "Through the back yard, into the neighbor's yard. He lost sight of him after that. But I doubt he got very far. We're organizing a search right now."

"Good. You do that." Henry strides back to his car and grabs an extra flashlight out of the glove compartment. He hands it to his wife, then pulls his own light off of his belt and switches it on.

"Henry, what are you doing?" the chief asks, though he already knows.

"I'm going to find my son, Matt. Come on, Maddie."

"Maybe you should let us handle-"

Madeline Spencer steps forward, quiet fear replaced by steely determination. "My son is out here somewhere, in the dark, alone. Afraid. No matter who finds him, he is going to need his parents right away. We'll start directly behind the house." Her eyes dare him to argue with her, and he does not accept the challenge.

"Here." The chief hands Henry a walkie-talkie. "Keep in touch. We'll radio you right away if we find him."

They start directly behind the house, where Plummer said Shawn went. At the edge of the yard, Madeline touches his arm.

"You go right; I'll go left."

He looks at her questioningly. "You want to split up?"

"Cover more ground. He could be anywhere, Henry." She is all business now, and he acquiesces, handing her the walkie-talkie because he already has one.

"Channel 9. Call me as soon as you find him." He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she disappears into the dark.

_He could be anywhere._

He is shining his flashlight across yards, through cracks in fences, and into every play house and dog house he finds. Searching an entire neighborhood full of places that a five year-old child could easily fit is suddenly seems like a much more daunting task. Wandering through strangers' yards in the dark is a good way to get shot, too. He should have warned Maddie.

Henry is about to call her back to him when he sees something looming above him in the night sky. It's a tree house. He smiles; Shawn has been begging for a tree house for six months now. He's never quite gotten around to building it for him. As soon as this is over and Shawn is home, safe..._Oh God, please. I swear I'll build him a tree house. _

He shines his light all around the base of the tree, but there is no ladder. He shines the light up through the opening in the bottom. He can see what looks like a chain ladder, attached to the floor. Someone has pulled it up into the house. His shoulders droop; Shawn couldn't have gotten up there.

_Unless he climbed up there and pulled the ladder up himself._ Excitement builds in his gut. The bottom of the tree house is too high for him to reach, so he pulls out his night stick and reaches it up. He feels around until he hears wood hitting metal.

_Clink._

_Clink. Clink._

The sound awakens Shawn, who has no idea where he is at first. It's dark. He sees the ceiling of an unfamiliar room above him. He hears the sound again, to his left.

_Clink._

He looks over at the hole in the floor, and everything comes back at once. Someone is trying to pull the ladder down. Bad man is back; invading his tree house fortress. He's found him, and he's going to climb up and get him.

Shawn sits up and looks around wildly, but there is nowhere to go. As quietly as possible he slides across the floor, to the farthest corner from the opening. He lies down on his side and pulls his knees up to his chest, trembling. That prickly, sick feeling is back, and he thinks he might throw up. His heart pounds too loudly in his chest. It's too dark to see, but he hears the ladder sliding across the floor, down to the ground. He hears someone climbing up, rung by rung.

Shawn closes his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Just this brief chapter and an epilogue, which I will post at the same time. Thank you so much for reading- this was really fun to write. I would love to know what you thought of it. :)

* * *

Henry doesn't see anything at first. There is nothing but a blank wall in front of him. He shines his light around the perimeter, turning carefully while still balancing on the ladder. He's halfway through the sweep when his light causes a gleam off of a head of familiar soft brown hair.

He gasps and nearly drops the flashlight. Although he had hoped to find him, Henry hadn't really expected Shawn to be there. He sweeps the light over his son's form again. Shawn is lying there, curled up in a ball, eyes tightly closed.

"Shawn," he says hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry and scratchy. "Shawn!"

Shawn finally opens his eyes, but he's squinting, blinded by the harsh glare of the flashlight. There is fear in his son's eyes, and Henry realizes guiltily that Shawn probably thinks he is the kidnapper.

"Shawn, it's me. It's OK."

He sets the flashlight down and climbs the rest of the way into the tree house. It's not tall enough for him to stand upright, so he settles for crawling on his hands and knees. It's just as well; his legs are suddenly the consistency of mashed potatoes. He crosses the floor in a couple of crawling strides until he is looking down at his son. Shawn looks up at him, not saying anything.

"Shawn?" He gently brushes the sweaty hair out of his son's eyes and checks him over for injuries. He appears fine, but it's hard to tell with next to no light. Henry reaches under his son's arms and lifts him up, pulling him close. The fist in his chest finally releases its grip, and the breath he has been holding for hours comes out all at once_. _He can feel Shawn trembling, and he hugs him even tighter, putting his hand over the back of his son's head and stroking his hair. Tears sting his eyes as he experiences a relief unlike anything he has ever known.

Presently, he is aware that Shawn is trying to say something. Henry reluctantly loosens his grip and pulls back.

"What did you say, buddy?"

Shawn looks at him fearfully. "Am I in trouble?"

He can barely comprehend the question. "In trouble? For what?"

Shawn looks down, and his lip quivers. "I went in the front yard..."

He closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head. "Shawn... you're not in trouble. This wasn't your fault."

Shawn leans forward and wraps his arms around his father's neck and Henry holds him again. He's crying now, tears wetting the shoulder of Henry's shirt. Between sobs, Henry hears him whimper into his ear.

"I want Mommy."

He had nearly forgotten. He reluctantly removes one arm from Shawn and picks up the walkie-talkie. "Maddie? Maddie, can you hear me?"

Static pops across the speaker, making them both jump. "Henry?"

"I've got him. I've got Shawn," he says, and his voice sounds strange even to his own ears. "He's OK. Meet me back at the house."

Shawn holds onto his neck all the way down the ladder and across the yard. An officer in a car spots them walking back and drives them to the house, where Madeline is waiting. He deposits Shawn into her arms and then wraps his own around both of them. Again, he experiences the sensation that everything else in the world has disappeared. All that matters is the three of them, together, shaken but not destroyed, and maybe even a little stronger for the experience.


	6. Epilogue

They were lucky, really.

That's what everyone told them.

After his arrest, the police were able to connect Plummer to two other kidnappings. He was a bold criminal, grabbing children off the streets in broad daylight. Smart, too. He always took kids from other towns, then took them back to his own home.

Those other two kids hadn't been as lucky as Shawn was.

Plummer hadn't really done anything to Shawn, other than rough him up a little and scare the hell out of him.

Henry hated hearing that. Like they should somehow be grateful. He would never forget the terrified look in his son's eyes when he found him in the tree house. He felt rage every time he thought about the bruise left on his son's cheek where Plummer had slapped him to keep him quiet.

Still, it could have been so much worse.

They were all shaken, and scared. Jumpy and nervous, even during the day. All three of them had nightmares. Shawn wouldn't play in the yard, not even the back yard, for months. Not until Henry took him out there and slowly walked backwards, away from him, into the house.

"You can't be afraid forever, Shawn. Nothing is going to happen to you. I'll be watching the whole time."

He made him stay out for five minutes. The next day it was ten, then fifteen. After a while Shawn would stay out for a half hour, though Henry could see him looking over his shoulder, over and over again. He was never really not afraid anymore. None of them were.

One day Madeline came to him with the real estate section of the paper clutched in her hand. Henry was incredulous, indignant.

"We can't just run away, Maddie! Shawn has to face his fears or he'll never get over them."

"He's five, Henry. He faces them every time he goes out in the yard. Over and over again. And so do I. Every time I walk out the front door..."

When an oceanfront home opened up, she convinced him to take it. The mortgage payment was steep, but they could manage. They had planned to live by the water someday anyway; someday was just here sooner than they had planned. Henry had to admit that there was something soothing about looking out over that vast expanse of ocean each day. The rhythm of the waves, the movement of the tides, seemed to bring calm to all of them.

They all began to be less afraid.

The experience never completely went away, though gradually, the intensity of the memory faded. Henry was relived to see that, above all, Shawn hadn't lost his spirit. He was still the same friendly, energetic, bright boy he had been before, though there was a part of him forever changed by what had happened.

_We were all lucky._

The words angered him, and frightened him. Yes, Shawn had been resourceful and saved himself, but not because of anything Henry had taught him. He had indeed been lucky, but luck wasn't good enough. The world was full of Charles Plummers. Next time (and God forbid there would ever be a next time, but he couldn't ignore the possibility), they would need more than luck. He wanted his son to be ready to face whatever life threw at him.

Nearly a year later, he took Shawn out for ice cream on a warm spring afternoon.

"We're going to play a game, Shawn."

Shawn brightened and wriggled in his seat; he loved games.

Henry glanced around the crowded diner, then back at his expectant son.

"I want you to close your eyes. No peeking! Now, tell me how many hats are in the room."


End file.
